


Cock

by Hannelore_Grace



Category: Cock
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannelore_Grace/pseuds/Hannelore_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M reacts to John following the end of the BBC radio play "Cock."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cock

**Author's Note:**

> Because writing M all the time made me feel awkward, I named the character Mitchell. I hope that is alright with the general populace.

It was long after the sun had gone down before John entered the flat. Cool breezes had forced him indoors despite not wanting to be in the oppressive fog that surrounded Mitchell. John hated feeling the simmering anger, the general air of disapproval that had him so disenchanted with the state of their relationship, but with Mitchell he was safe. There were none of the unknowns that accompanied W; John had spent seven years with Mitchell, seven years of fighting, fucking, and sometimes even getting along just fine. Mitchell could take care of him, Mitchell had provided for him when his menial cubicle job would not have paid the rent or other living expenses. Better the devil you know, he reminded himself.

The sound of the sliding door closing filled the flat; John couldn't help but be reminded of the sound the doors of prison cells made when they were slammed shut in films. It was just another bitter reminder of the long evening, another echoing question of doubt. He knew this would trouble him for years to come. Perhaps he would never forgive himself for making this decision. Perhaps he would regret it. He already regretted it after listening to Mitchell's nagging, so very characteristic of him. John sighed, glancing at the wall clock lit by the glow of the lights streaming in through the glass door. It was two in the morning, well past a respectable hour to go to bed for respectable adults. Of course, if Mitchell was to be believed, he was hardly an adult and therefore the rules of adults did not apply to him.

Still wrapped in troubled thoughts, John quietly walked down the hall to the bedroom he shared with Mitchell. He wished Mitchell had sent his oaf of a father home instead of allowing him to sleep over in the spare room; he wished that he could seclude himself into that room until he'd sorted through the tangled mess of thoughts and fears, but instead he was being forced into bed with half of the problem. He would have to lay in the same bed where they'd fucked for years and try not to let himself be overwhelmed by the feeling of wrong, by the feeling of being possessed, owned, tied up on a rope. He toed off his shoes as soon as he walked into the room, eyeing the curled form of Mitchell on the right of the bed. He was so small, but he was bigger than John. He was the proverbial wolf in the sheep's clothing.

John stripped himself down to his shorts, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, before sliding onto the opposite side of the bed as Mitchell. The expansive mattress hardly shifted as he got under the covers, and he thanked the deities above for that. Mitchell was even more of a nuisance when woken up. Still, as soon as he had settled down and closed his eyes, he was surprised to hear Mitchell's voice murmuring from his side of the bed.

"You're still thinking of her, aren't you?"

John sighed, clenching his jaw tightly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course, of course. You never want to talk about it when you're the one that's fucked things up," Mitchell responded dryly.

"You're not convincing me that I made the right choice," John answered shortly.

"Oh, is that what you want, is it?" Mitchell snapped as he rolled over to face John, his dark eyes hardly visible in the dimly lit room, but his pale skin standing out in eerie contrast. "You want me to convince you? You want me to show you what a good prize I am?"

"That's not what I said!"

"It's what you meant, though," Mitchell bit out. "You think I'm going to thank you for choosing me? You think I'm going to grovel at your feet and sing your praises for being so kind as to take me? No, no. You're the one that fucked things up, you're the one that went messing around. You should just be happy that I was willing to take you back after you cocked everything up."

"What do you want then, Mitchell?" John snapped back. "I picked her and you were crying over a fucking cheesecake, then I choose you and you're still not happy. So what the fuck do you want?"

"I want you to stop thinking about her, for starters," Mitchell growled, rolling so that he was on top of John, his fingers curled tightly around his wrists. "I want that bitch out of this flat, out of our lives, and above all else out of your head."

John felt a peculiar flipping in his stomach as Mitchell glared down at him. He had always known that Mitchell was more intimidating than he looked upon first glance, but at the moment he looked positively feral. His jaw was clenched tight, and his scowl could have made much larger men than him shrink back. John would have done so if Mitchell didn't have his wrists held so tightly, forcing him to remain in place as Mitchell glowered at him.

"It doesn't work like that," John answered, startled at how quickly Mitchell had taken away his will to yell and fight back. He was still angry, still upset that Mitchell was being a right arse about the whole thing, but he couldn't muster up the energy to yell at him and put him back in his place.

"I can make you forget," Mitchell replied, dropping his head down to run the tip of his nose behind John's ear. His hot breath blew down John's neck as he murmured, "I can make sure you never think of her again."

"Stop, Mitchell. This isn't the time." John knew he needed to end this before it started, knew that doing anything with Mitchell when he was in this state was a bad idea, but his body was already rebelling against his mind. His resolve was weakening with every stroke of Mitchell's tongue over the shell of his ear.

"No, we have to do it now," Mitchell insisted, his voice still pitched low and humming into John's ear. "I need her out now." He moved down to nuzzle up against the soft skin directly below John's jaw and sucked at it. His hand came up to curl into John's hair, holding it just tightly enough to prevent John from moving away from him.

John's eyes fluttered shut, and he struggled to hold up the last of his resistance. "We can't. Your dad is right down the hall," he protested weakly.

"Never mattered before," Mitchell said, nipping lightly at John's skin. "Didn't stop you from fucking me not hours after my mother's funeral."

"That was different," John argued. "You needed it. You were all caught up in your head and--" he gasped sharply as Mitchell's hand groped over his cock, squeezing just tight enough to be slightly painful and stimulating at the same time.

"Shut up, John," snarled Mitchell's voice from above him. "Just shut the fuck up." He squeezed harder, and John groaned, fighting back the urge to rut up into Mitchell's warm palm. John was instantly silenced by the angry, possessive look that had overtaken Mitchell's features. Light cut across him from the window above their bed, illuminating the dark scowl that etched itself onto Mitchell's lips.

Mitchell eased his grip on John's cock and quickly shifted so that he was pinning his partner's arms above his head. The fingers of one hand curled easily around John's slender wrists, holding them in place and allowing his other hand to tug insistently at his shorts. John remained obediently silent as he was stripped, a fact which somewhat surprised Mitchell but also fueled his arousal; he was in control, and John would do whatever he wanted until that bitch had been erased from his memory. He took a moment to appreciate the bared expanses of John's soft skin. Bones stood out under his flesh, a testament to his slender, wispy build. Mitchell's fingers trailed down the ridges of his ribs, leaving goose flesh in their wake. They stopped at John's hips where Mitchell rubbed his thumb in circles over the soft, tight skin just beside the bone. He finally understood why John had said this was one of his favorite spots to touch; it was delicate, it was a bare canvas asking for bruises in the shape of fingerprints.

John shivered as Mitchell continued to explore his body. He watched while Mitchell's thumb moved around his hip in slow circles, then pressed down firmly. John squirmed, the feeling not entirely pleasant simply because Mitchell refused to let up. He continued digging his thumb down, pressing it more and more firmly into his skin until John had to force himself not to try and knock Mitchell off. He vaguely thought that he should have done so anyway, but all similar thoughts were quickly wiped out of his mind when Mitchell's hand finally moved away from his hip and began fondling his cock. The pleasant sensations took over immediately; every stroke of Mitchell's palm over his shaft made his pulse heighten, every gentle palming of his balls had him arching up for more. Mitchell, however, quickly slapped the side of his thigh, leaving a sharp, stinging pain in its wake.

"Stop moving," Mitchell commanded. "You don't move or speak unless I tell you to."

John swallowed thickly, somewhat startled by the harsh, demanding presence Mitchell had suddenly adopted. His hips fell back down onto the mattress, however, and he laid silently while waiting for Mitchell to continue touching and manipulating his body. Mitchell watched him for a moment longer, a warning expression on his face until he finally turned his attention back to John's cock. The harsh set of his mouth eased slightly and a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he saw that John's cock was still-half hard, eager for more attention. He took it in his hand again, this time adding more pressure to his touches. He slid his palm up and down John's shaft, coaxing it to its full length. He was completely hard within a few minutes of Mitchell's careful attention and leaking pre-come onto Mitchell's fingers. He looked his fingers over curiously for a moment before his eyes flickered up to meet John's. Their gazes stayed locked as Mitchell slowly slipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking away the meager traces of John.

"Roll over," he abruptly ordered, licking away the last of John's pre-come from the pads of his fingers. John nodded mutely and did as he was told while Mitchell threw aside the duvet and sheets, knocking them out of the way so they wouldn't get tangled in them through the night's activities.

John laid on his stomach with his chin resting on his folded arms, his breathing slow and deep as he waited for more instructions from Mitchell. Mitchell, however, seemed perfectly content to continue his slow, careful exploration of John's body. He started with John's hair, letting his fingers card through it delicately while his nose buried itself into the base of John's neck, inhaling his scent. He sucked over the most prominent bone and scraped his teeth over it while his hands slid down John's shoulders and sides. They stopped at his hips once again, his fingers curling over them as he kissed his way down John's spine. He tasted the salty tinged of John's skin on his lips, then licked at the lowest curve of his spine to get more of it. John shivered as he felt the rough planes of Mitchell's tongue stroking up his back, followed by his lips pressing down just above the crease of his arse.

"You taste so good," Mitchell said softly, his voice more tender than it had been all night. "Every bit of you is perfect." His forehead was resting on John's lower back, and John could feel his hot breath puffing over his skin, making more goose bumps spring to the surface. Mitchell closed his eyes, savoring the light scent that was John as his nose nestled into the dip of his back. He didn't want to think that he had almost lost this, that John had been willing to take all this away from him. His grip on John's hips tightened abruptly as the pain of John's initial betrayal struck him again. He couldn't do that again, he couldn't have John leave him, not without first knowing how hurt it would leave him. He sat up and crawled up the length of John's body, straddling his hips as he shifted so that he was hovering just above John's head.

"Suck," he ordered while pressing his fingers up to John's lips. John opened his mouth for him and began sucking on the two digits that Mitchell presented him. His tongue rolled around the fingers, coating them in a thick layer of saliva while Mitchell slowly pushed the in and out of his mouth. When they were completely moist, Mitchell pulled them away then carefully slid them between John's crease. John willingly spread his legs wider for Mitchell, giving him access to his most private parts. Mitchell gave him an approving hum while his wet fingers slid around his hole. They pressed down slightly, just enough so he was massaging the tight ring of muscle. John relaxed more and more for him until Mitchell finally slipped the first finger into him. John gave a soft his of discomfort; he was rarely penetrated, and so the stretch was more than he was used to. It took a few inward strokes of Mitchell's finger before the burn subsided to nothing but the feeling of being stretched.

Mitchell watched John as he worked the finger in and out of his body. He watched the slight tensing of his spine when the digit first entered him, then the gradual relaxing of his muscles until he was laid lax and calm on the bed once more. When John was ready, he eased in the second finger. Again, John tensed, but this time he adjusted to the stretch more quickly. He pushed back slightly, cautiously against Mitchell's fingers, wondering if this was allowed. Mitchell rubbed his hip gently to tell him that it was. As soon as he was given permission, John pressed back harder, giving a soft grunt as he took Mitchell's fingers in to their fullest depth. Mitchell scissored them and twisted them inside John, making sure that he was ready for more before reaching over into their nightstand to find the bottle of lube kept therein. He quickly coated his cock in the fluid, giving a soft moan as he touched himself. John had turned his head to watch, and he couldn't help giving an aroused groan and bucking back against Mitchell's fingers while watching Mitchell stroking himself.

Mitchell dropped the bottle and turned his attention back to John. He pulled his fingers out of his lover's arse, smiling at the little whimper the motion drew out of John, and stroked the remaining lube on his fingers around John's entrance. "Hips up," he said as he grabbed a pillow and pushed it under John's hips to help hold him up. He positioned himself over John, his legs spread to straddle his hips once again as he took his cock in hand and guided it to John's entrance. John felt the hard press of Mitchell's cock as it pushed against the tight ring of muscle, then the added stretch as his head finally slipped into his body. Mitchell moaned, then pressed forward again, sliding his full length into John inch by inch.

When Mitchell was fully buried in John, he paused, his hips pressed right up against John's arse. He grabbed onto John's delicate hip bones once again, his time using them for purchase as he slowly pulled back. John wriggled and moaned underneath him, eager for more. Mitchell quickly thrust back down into him, making John give a surprised gasp at the sudden push of Mitchell's cock into him. He pushed his own hips up, meeting Mitchell and working his cock even deeper into himself. Mitchell dug his knees into the mattress and quickly began pounding into John, thrusting his cock as deep and hard into John as he could manage. The room was filled with the sharp slap of their skin, and John had to reach up to grab onto the headboard to keep himself from sliding up the bed with each jerk of Mitchell's hips. He moaned needily and bucked his hips up, aching for more. He could feel his cock rubbing deliciously against the pillow Mitchell had put beneath his hips, which only encouraged him to rut even more between Mitchell and the pillow.

Mitchell was working himself hard, thrusting into John in a hard, punishing rhythm. He needed this, needed to use fucking John to burn off the anger, the hurt, the confusion. He didn't want to think, didn't want John thinking, not when thinking might take John away from him again. He groaned loudly, unsure if it was because of the pleasure of having John wrapped tightly around his cock, or if it was because of the dam of mixed emotions that fucking John was breaking open. He growled and pounded into him even harder, making John scream out as he thrust ruthlessly into him, hitting his sweet spot with every inward snap of his hips. He curled his fingers into John's hips until his nails were digging into the skin, surely leaving scratches that would ache the next morning when the waistband of John's trousers wrapped around them. He wanted John to ache, wanted him to feel this the next day. He clench his eyes shut against the stinging behind his lids, trying to shut out everything but the feeling of fucking John, of taking him mercilessly, of stripping him open and leaving him filled with himself.

John was moaning loudly, the friction from the pillow no longer enough on his aching cock. He wanted desperately to get off, to spill his release over the pillow that only minutes earlier had been under Mitchell's head. He didn't dare touch his cock, however. He wasn't sure how Mitchell would react to it, given how erratically he was fucking him. Usually Mitchell was content to bottom or just let John ride him, but tonight he was fucking John furiously, gripping onto his hips hard enough to bruise and grunting as he set a hard, punishing pace. Every slap of Mitchell's hips sent and electric thrill of desperation through John, making him gasp and cry out like a needy whore. He bucked up to meet Mitchell's thrusts, panting and sweating as he worked to push himself and Mitchell over the edge.

Mitchell's shaking legs finally gave out from the effort of fucking John for so long and so hard, and he collapsed on top of John, spread out over his back with his cheek resting between John's shoulder blades. He took a few panting breaths, then began rocking into him again, bracing his knees alongside John's legs to continue fucking him. His hands gripped onto John's sides now to hold himself in place as he worked his cock into John's arse. He couldn't fuck him as hard, but the feeling of John's muscles writhing underneath him, their sweat mixing with each other's, was enough for Mitchell. He grunted, knowing he was close, and slid his hand underneath John's hips to grip his cock.

John gasped and shuddered as he felt Mitchell's hand around him. Eagerly, he began rutting into Mitchell's palm, each motion bringing him intense pleasure as he rocked between Mitchell's fist and prick. He gripped tightly onto the headboard and practically screamed Mitchell's name as he finally came, smearing come over his stomach and the pillow. His whole body was shuddering with the pleasure of his release, his muscles clenching and uncoiling in delight until he finally fell lax onto the bed.

Mitchell groaned as he felt John tightening around his cock. He began pounding into him as hard as he could, fucking John through the shocks of his climax while pushing himself to the edge also. With his face buried in John's sweat-soaked skin, he finally came, his moans muffled as he shot spurts of come into John. He shuddered and moaned softly, carefully pulling out of John's arse before it became too painful for his sensitive prick. He peppered kisses over John's back, both of them too relaxed following their climax to move out of the mess their desperate fucking had left behind.

Slowly, Mitchell shifted his head so that his chin was propped on John's shoulder. He tenderly kissed up John's neck to his ear, once again tracing the soft shell of his with his tongue. John smiled, his eyes falling closed contently as he allowed Mitchell's gentle signs of affection. Long, pleasant moments of silence stretched between them, moments during which John didn't even realize that he had completely forgotten about the woman or the cause of their wild, needy fuck. All he thought about was Mitchell, and the warm press of his lover's body over his own.

"John?" Mitchell murmured softly into his ear.

"Mm?" John hummed in response, too tired to think of anything with more eloquence.

"You didn't turn out the lights, did you?"

John groaned softly and closed his eyes, deciding that giving an actual response was unnecessary. He heard a small chuckle come from behind him, and Mitchell roughly bit his shoulder. "I don't know why I put up with you," Mitchell said lightly, his voice amused. He knew why, of course. Because putting up with John's failings was better than losing him completely.


End file.
